


The Laws of Attraction

by Wildfire1980



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dany is queen, Drunk Jorah, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jorah has no filter, Jorah is alive and well, Libraries, Light Angst, Off the whim marriage proposals, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Who knows where my brain is taking this, liquid courage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-12-07 20:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildfire1980/pseuds/Wildfire1980
Summary: For months she has ruled from the safety of the Iron Throne and for years, she has tried to deny what he truly means to her…until tonight.





	1. Exploring the Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so for some reason, this story has been circling my brain for about a week now. It can most definitely be a stand alone, as well as a one shot. But I'm thinking more chapters. God knows, I have enough plot circling around in my head to make this at least 4 to 5 chapters. 
> 
> And don't worry, I'm still working on my other story as well. 
> 
> But this one kind of just wrote itself. 🤷♀️ 
> 
> Hopefully you all like it and don't mind letting me know if I should continue or not.

_A library is also the place where love begins. - Rudolfo Anaya _

**-x-x-x-**

It was a cool night.

Not as cold as the north of course. 

King’s Landing never reached that level of frigid conditions. 

But it was slowly making its way from a chilled winter to the embracing warmth of spring. 

A transition she welcomed. 

As did her last living dragon, Drogon. 

Much like his mother, he didn’t particularly care for the icy temperatures of the north. 

Or the fickle ways of its people. 

Nor how the worth of a foreign Queen that had sacrificed more than half of what she had acquired to save them went so unappreciated.

Being forced to watch from the sidelines as they chose another Queen to lead them in her stead.

A Queen that hid, safely tucked away in the crypts while she, still deemed unworthy, went head to head with a King that had been on the other side of the grave for centuries.

She remembers the look upon the Night King’s face when he fell from Viserion’s back and searched the skies, only to see Dany securely perched between Drogon’s shoulders, the dragon's massive wings casting an even more oppressive doom over his approaching demise.

And with one simple word, she watched as he was engulfed in a fiery flame, Drogon extending the endurance of his lungs, as if making sure the King truly fell.

Only stopping when Viserion’s dead body imploded mid-air, falling from the sky in a blue blaze of fire, like a fallen star hitting the earth.

But even then, after the threat was gone and she had secured their lives, did they still bid to be free of her. 

Unmoved by her heroism.

As well as her sacrifices.

Her dragons.

Her armies. 

Her friends. 

Even after such losses, they still refused her and crowned another.

Then had the audacity to plead their cause for independence to her face.

A request that she initially forbade, until her Lord Commander convinced her otherwise.

Claiming that it would be wise to make an ally of them, as opposed to an enemy. That with the promise of independence, they would be more inclined to rally to her cause. 

Which is exactly how she got to where she is now. 

To her new home. 

The Red Keep. 

Possessing the title of Queen of the Six Kingdoms.

Yes, with the help of Jon Snow and the North, she gained her Kingdom, but no true alliance has yet to have been forged between the two.

Every Northman, including Jon Snow, made the tedious walk back home shortly after King’s Landing fell and Queen Cersei was pronounced dead among the rubble. 

The truth of his parentage never leaving his sister’s lips.

_…or cousin’s?_

Whatever she was to him at the time. 

Now…well, now she was his wife.

As Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Protector of the Six Kingdoms remained officially unwed.

And somehow, her life as ruler of the Iron Throne just wasn’t as fulfilling as she always imagined it would be. 

It was a formidable job. 

The daunting hours. 

The constant pull of her people. 

The tedious council meetings that bored her to no end. 

For weeks, she had been desperate for a solace. 

For a place to hide away. 

A place secluded and void of interruptions. 

A place she could run to when sleep evaded her. 

Much like it was tonight. 

Which is the very reason she had set out to her newfound refuge. 

One that she imagined Ser Jorah would venture to as well, if he had ever been introduced to its engaging lure.

Despite her guard’s reservations to their Queen venturing through the halls of the Keep like some inquisitive child alone, she still insisted they leave her be.

Making the tone of her command so stern, that it left no room for opposition.

Although, she had no doubt her Lord Commander would be greatly displeased if he knew how many times, she had abandoned her retinue for these little excursions of hers.

She slowly ventured down the spiral staircase, thankful that the sconces were still burning upon the walls, especially since the small candleholder in her hand did very little to alight her way.

When she reached the last step, she made her way down the large hallway.

It’s towering columns of white marble only echoing the beauty of the moon’s beams, as they penetrated the oversized, glass windows and danced upon the floor. 

The light casting an ill-defined shade over the doors on the opposite end of the corridor, giving it a rather haunting outline. 

But she was quite aware of the beauty that lied just on the other side.

As she approached, she regarded the intricate, cast iron work of black dragon wings that decorated the red, backdrop of the doors and once again, wished that she had been able to convince their gifted creator, Gendry Baratheon, to stay on as her master weaponsmith. But he felt better suited to serve her from Storm’s End. 

They all seemed to want to serve her from afar.

After the battle of Winterfell, she even feared that her Lord Commander would leave her, when news reached him that Lady Mormont had fallen in battle, leaving Bear Island without a ruler.

And so, she did, as she had always promised him. 

She tried to give him his home back.

As much as it pained her to do so, she reinstated him as Lord of Bear Island, only to have him storm her chambers late into the evening when he had discovered what she had done.

Tossing the scroll of decree offhandedly on the table, declaring he didn’t want such a title. 

“Then what reward shall you have, dear Ser?” 

Till this day, she remembers the look in his eyes. 

A quiet yearning overlapped by an even deeper desperation.

“To remain by your side.” 

“But it’s your home, Jorah.” 

“Not anymore.” 

He said the words with such conviction. 

And yet, she knew if she had dug deeper, he might have been inclined to reveal the root of its meaning.

One that she had tried to ignore for quite some time, despite how faithfully he had proven its validity.

_She was his home. _

Even when faced with a decision that she thought would be a reprieve from his duty, a redemption of some sorts…_He still chooses her._

Much to her relief and her council’s dismay. 

Looking back, perhaps that’s what the sinking feeling in her chest was all about.

Whenever she was faced with the prospect of losing him for good, it would always make itself known.

The weight of its burden dragging her heart down, only to discover that the promise of his continued presence was the only cure that could alleviate the pressure.

Maybe.

Just maybe, he had become her home as well. 

Gently, her hands pushed the doors open, revealing the wonder that lied hidden behind their obstruction. 

The vaulted ceilings decorated with painted murals of the Targaryen dynasty. 

The intricate carvings of dragons within the cherry wood, as volumes and volumes of books lined its shelved walls. 

The black marble floors that proudly displayed the red, three-headed dragon sigil in the middle. 

The oversized hearth that rested prominently at the far end of its recess and the fire roaring within its belly. 

A faint smile touched her lips. 

Apparently one of the servants had become aware of her little visits and had taken it upon themselves to keep their Queen warm. 

She walked deeper into the library’s chamber, taking in the endless array of books. 

Thankful that such beauty had not been destroyed in the battle for the Iron Throne. 

Although, she did pass down the order to add several cosmetic changes to its pre-existing condition. 

Changes that celebrated her heritage as the dragon heir. 

Her eyes lightly skimmed over the artistry, until they stopped to her left, resting upon the sixth bookshelf. 

She knew exactly where the book she sought was located. 

Remembering its whereabouts during her last visit.

She closes the distance and pauses before its resting place. 

Then suspiciously looks to the right and then to the left, confirming the library's vacancy.

Softly, she blew out the flame to her candle, setting the candleholder upon the side table.

Admiring how the combined light from the windows and the hearth, cast the library in a darkened state of orange and yellow shades that seemed to climb the walls.

Once certain she was alone, she quietly stood to her tiptoes, trying desperately to broaden her height, stretching her hand forth to grasp the edges of the book, only to be disheartened when she realized she was still too short to obtain it. 

A revelation that caused her to sigh in frustration and take a small step back.

She eyed the library ladder attached to a completely different wall, rolling her eyes in annoyance when she realized that it would be far too heavy for her to move by herself, causing her to abandon that plan and devise another tactic. 

With determination, she measured the wall with her eyes, as if sizing up the obstacle. 

Refusing to be defeated. 

Cautiously, she placed her foot to the bottom shelf and pushed on it a couple of times, testing its durability. 

Then looked up, searching for a shelf that would provide one hand with the stability she needed, while the other reached for her book. 

Once convinced that it would work, she carefully moved to step onto the shelf’s edge. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

Daenerys jumped back, her hand flying to her chest, desperately trying to slow the pounding of her heart, as she turned to face the owner behind that graveled voice.

Only to see Jorah Mormont sitting on the opposite end of the room, with his legs crossed and a book calmly open upon his lap.

With his elbow casually resting on the arm of the chair and his cheek perched flatly against his fist.

His eyes fixed to hers with an expression that told her he had seen enough to issue such a warning against that brand of reckless stupidity.

“Seven hells, Jorah…Did you even intend to warn me of your presence?” 

He only arched a brow in response, giving her body a lingering perusal.

One that made her very aware of her attire. 

Or lack of it. 

Her bare feet originally felt good against the cool, marble floor.

But now, she felt oddly exposed. 

Especially with her choice of gown tonight and the sheer material that left nothing to her Lord Commander's imagination. 

Looking back, she wished she had grabbed her robe before setting out on her little adventure.

She watches from her side of the room, as Jorah closes his book.

Then slowly rises to his feet, with book in hand as he moves closer to her, his voice light, yet accusing. 

“You do realize that you forgot the most critical part of your lesson?” 

Daenerys didn’t even try to hide the roll of her eyes or the irritating puff of air that left her lips. 

She knew what he was referring to. 

Ever since the Battle of Winterfell, she always feared that the liability of losing him might present itself in such a permanent way again. 

And if somehow, she could defend him, just as viciously as he does her, then the likelihood of that possibility would dwindle in size. 

Which is exactly why she asked him to teach her combative lessons. 

To show her how to fight just as strategically as he does.

Besides, it wasn’t as pointless as Tyrion claimed it to be.

Accusing her of just wanting to wrestle around with her Lord Commander in close quarters, never understanding why she just wouldn’t fuck him instead.

Always teasing her and causing Jorah to blush in the process, whenever he would say, _“If you’re going to play house with Mormont, I daresay you must include the bedroom as well.” _

But this was no simple, domestic house and neither one of them lived an ordinary life.

Especially her. 

Being pulled on by every side of her Kingdom to marry. 

With proposals ranging from Dorne to Essos. 

All seeking alliances with the dragon Queen.

And yet, none of them stirred her like the man before her did. 

No man ever has.

Perhaps in another place and time, she could have him. 

Be with him in a way that she has spent most of her adult life being blinded too. 

Like, a life, a marriage...a child or two.

Far from the prying eyes of her council and the disconcerting banter of her Hand. 

“I checked my surroundings.” She argued. “I have no doubt that you saw me do so.” 

“You did no such thing.” 

Her mouth immediately opened to discredit his claims, but Jorah refused her that right. 

“You only checked half, as your surprise to my presence would suggest.” 

She tilted her chin up, shrugging her shoulders in defiance.

“And what do you intend to do about it, Lord Commander…_punish me?_”

Jorah walks toward her, his eyes darkening and his expression unreadable, then stops mere inches from her. 

His body towering over hers, although she tries not to let her disadvantage show under his careful scrutiny.

She watches, as he slowly begins to move into her personal space, his body lightly brushing against hers in the process, as he places his book back into its empty slot.

Then effortlessly grabs the one she had been so determined to reach and proffers it to her. 

Neither moving, nor giving up their ground. 

Cautiously, she looks toward the book, but hesitates to claim it. 

“You should be more observant.” He softly chastises. 

Her eyes snap back to his and linger far longer than her outrage should have allotted. 

And he doesn't even try to hide it. 

Hide the smirk that gently tugs at his lips when she snatches the book from his hand. 

“I am observant.” His Queen defended. 

_'How dare him.'_ she angrily thought. _'He has no right.'_

And she would have brushed past him, to further prove her point.

But gods, he was standing so close, smelling vaguely of sandalwood and wine.

An intoxicating mixture that seemed to captivate her, causing her brain to get drunk off of him and lack the interest it warranted in causing such a divide. 

“Are you now?” 

He asks in that dangerous timbre that always seems to make her weak. 

Reducing his Queen to just shaking her head in assent, no longer trusting her own voice, as his eyes search hers with an unspoken need.

And she's dimly aware of how his hand slowly moves to rest against the shelf above her head.

Or how his body shifts to one side, leaning more toward the bookcase he’s cunningly backed her into. 

And she tries to ignore it. 

Ignore how dangerously fast her heart is beating.

How she can’t seem to take her eyes off of him.

Or how the cerulean blue of her Lord Commander’s eyes has turned to a much darker shade. 

And how his actions seem to be all the more emboldened by whatever brand of wine he consumed before coming here. 

“Then speak truly, Your Grace.” His eyes drift to her lips, then back to her violet depths. “...Do you think I should leave?” 

She swallows hard. 

“No.” 

And she fully expected him to kiss her. 

To take her like she has wanted him too for so long. 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he just stares at her…long and thoughtful. 

“Perhaps you should.”

“Why?” 

_Oh gods, did she really just say that out loud._

But the look on his face told her all she needed to know on that account. 

“Do you intend to marry the new Lord of Highgarden?” 

His question not only shocked her, but also explained the mysterious smell of wine on his lips. 

Another offer from yet another Lord.

Except this one was much different. 

He had journeyed to King’s Landing to personally extend his proposal. 

He was handsome and of noble birth.

And far closer to her age than most other suitors. 

Which seemed to have her bear more worried than he had previously let on. 

“Should I?” 

“No.” 

He was far too quick to answer. 

"I have to marry someone, Jorah.” 

“Aye, I know.” 

“Good, then perhaps you should rethink your stance on Lord Ricker’s offer.”

“Perhaps you should send Lord Ricker back to Highgarden.”

She snorted a laugh. “And tell him what?” 

“That you intend to marry me.” 

Her smile instantly faded, her eyes suddenly drawn to the marble floor. 

“You shouldn’t tease me about such things.” 

His hand softly grasps her chin, lightly turning her eyes back to his. 

“I’m not joking, Khaleesi.” He paused. "I would never." 

Her eyes searched his.

And he was relieved to discover that she wasn't as opposed to the idea as he initially thought she would be. 

In fact, she doesn’t seem averse to it all. 

Maybe his instincts were right. 

Maybe she does truly love him. 

But just never found the courage to voice it. 

Or give into it for that matter.

“Tyrion would never allow it.”

“To hell with Tyrion.”

“…But he’s Hand of the Queen.” 

Her argument was weak. 

And she knew it. 

Even more so, now that his lips were moving closer to hers. 

Pausing just a mere breath away. 

Waiting. 

Teasing.

“Aye…but who is Queen?”

_Dammit._

That was definitely a valid point.

One that he seems to drive home the instant his lips crash against hers, successfully erasing all coherent arguments from her mind. 

And with a skill she has yet to experience, his tongue gently teases her lips, until her mouth slants and opens, allowing him to deepen their kiss.

Her hands lightly slide up his chest and lock behind his neck, holding him to her, as if fearing that he’ll come to his senses and retreat back within himself. 

Like he’s always done in the past. 

Never being the one to act. 

The one to change his fate and persuade her to his cause. 

Just as his lips were doing right now. 

And damn him for being so convincing. 

For loving her this long. 

And damn her, for being so blind.

For not seeing it sooner. 

And damn them both, for wasting so many years. 

When they could have been experiencing this level of intimacy all along.

Jorah breaks the kiss and her head drops back against the shelves, his lips kissing a hot path down her neck, to her shoulders as he softly whispers into her skin. 

“Marry me, Khaleesi.”

She only closes her eyes and moans in response, as he kisses his way back up her neck, to her jaw line, to her ear.

“Say yes.” He silently pleads.

But she doesn’t speak and his heart ceases to beat, as he backs away and sees the look in her eyes.

The fear. 

The hope. 

Both engaged in a dangerous battle, while his heart hanged in the balance, awaiting its fate.


	2. Burn to Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the night progresses, Jorah becomes even more emboldened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, my lovelies????
> 
> After a long hiatus, I'm finally back. Yays!!! 
> 
> So, here's the new chapter. And please, for the love of God, bear in mind that Jorah is currently drunk off his ass, hence his OOC moments. I don't know, maybe if we actually got to witness him operate for one night as a drunk, then perhaps this is exactly how our bear would conduct himself. 
> 
> Either way, this is how I envisioned a drunken Jorah Mormont. Hopefully you are all sitting down because he lays the seduction on pretty thick. 
> 
> And yes, I'm working on the new chapter of "WIaFC." It should be updated next. The third (possibly last chapter) of this story is currently being written as well. So keep an eye out for them this coming week.
> 
> Enjoy!!!

With eyes wide and disbelieving, Daenerys’ fingers briefly touch her lips.

“You’re drunk?” 

It wasn’t really a question, but more of a statement.

One that explained the boldness of his kiss and the mystery behind his sudden proposal. 

For years, they’ve tiptoed around the subject. 

Around this unspoken force of attraction that has always existed between them. 

Neither being brave enough to dive into the abyss. 

To take what’s been culminating beneath the dormancy of the shores to deeper waters. 

She has always been too keen to ignore it and Jorah, well, he was too reserved to force the issue.

“That wasn’t exactly the answer I was looking for.” 

“I’m afraid it’s the only answer you shall have.” She pointedly nodded in his direction “…especially in this state.”

Jorah watches as she quickly moves away and turns her back to him.

Watches as she hugs the book he had retrieved for her, as if her life depended upon it. 

“Khaleesi,” He’s closer, she can tell by the proximity of his voice. “Look at me.”

_No, that definitely was not the wisest course of action._

Especially now.

She needed to run.

To embrace her ignorance once again and flee the scene altogether.

But it was the timbre of his voice that stopped her.

Laced with a desperation that strategically debilitated her logic, holding her within his orbit.

The force of his gravity pulling her back to face him, as their eyes lock and begin speaking a silent language only the two of them have long understood.

She’s not sure how much time passes between them.

Or how long they’ve been staring at each other, lost in the moment, before he reaches for her hand. 

Keeping his grip loose, just in case she still wants to retreat. 

“I’m not drunk.” 

She snorted a laugh, “Oh yes, you are.” 

“I had a few drinks with Ser Davos, nothing more.” 

“But you don’t drink.” 

Jorah shrugged his shoulders. “No, normally I don’t.” 

“Then why start tonight?” 

He carefully regarded her.

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

Daenerys arched a suspicious brow. 

“Lord Ricker?” 

Jorah averts his gaze, breathes in and exhales deeply. 

And she can tell by his expression that he’s carefully trying to work his answer out.

But it appears the alcohol is laboring against him and his reply comes out sounding more egotistical, than sincere. 

“I don’t want to lose you to someone else.” 

“I’m not yours to lose.” Daenerys snaps back.

“But you could be.” 

Her lips part in surprise, as all further objections dry up in her throat. 

And suddenly the massive library feels smaller, too warm. 

Too constricting to contain such an epochal moment within its walls.

Until she vaguely realizes that he’s pulling her to him, his lips drawing closer to hers. 

So close that she can smell the lingering, bitter scent of ale on his lips. 

Only to stop short of their pursuit, when she defiantly places her newly acquired book between them.

Jorah calmly looks down at the diversion, undaunted, especially since the alcohol had emboldened him hours ago.

His night started out with Ser Davos getting an earful of his love induced, jealous confession. 

Only to end, by receiving sound advice from the onion knight. 

Advice that seemed to far outweigh his current predicament. 

And when you mix wise counsel with large quantities of alcohol, well, a fireproof plan emerges.

_Or burns…whichever comes first._

Now all he had to do, was convince her of that same reasoning.

His blue eyes slowly move to hers, their depths shining with reckless abandon, as he tests her resolve by pushing back against the boundaries she’s clearly set in place.

And she should have slapped him.

For taking such liberties. 

For actively consorting with this level of insubordination. 

The instant he was brazen enough to allow his lips to graze along her jawline, lightly ghosting up to her ear. 

Paralyzing her completely.

Easily subduing any mindfulness of duty that all Queens rightly ruled with. 

Reducing her from a Targaryen monarch, to a woman entranced by a bear that seemed to be employing his own magic. 

“Tell me that you don’t love me.” He pleads. “That you feel nothing, and I swear by the gods, I’ll never speak of it again.” 

Daenerys forces herself to swallow, her breaths coming out in short gasps. 

The byproduct of a lust so intense that it actually hurts, like a fire burning deep inside your belly. 

And she hopes he sees it. 

Sees how she’s trying so hard. 

Trying to be the rational one here. 

But it’s the proximity of his body, the intensity behind his gaze that seems to rob her of all reason.

“Tell me,” he whispers softly. 

“I…we…” Daenerys falters.

Her gaze making a slow perusal from his eyes to his lips.

She wanted nothing more than to claim them. 

To make them hers. 

To make Jorah, hers.

To stop fighting what fate had conspired. 

And she wishes it could be easier. 

Easier to just give in. 

To fulfil a long, awaited clandestine desire.

One that she has ignored and neglected for countless nights.

For months.

For as many years as she has known him. 

She wanted nothing more than to open Pandora’s box and touch the forbidden that laid hidden inside. 

“Khaleesi?” 

The concern in his voice successfully interrupts her thoughts and suddenly she realizes, he’s still waiting for her answer. 

“Perhaps this is a matter I should discuss with Lord Ricker first.”

Slowly, he bows his head in defeat. 

Daenerys’ hand gently cups his cheek, fingers lightly scratching through his beard. 

“Jorah please…” She falters. “Please tell me you understand.”

“I’m afraid the only thing I understand is this unorthodox pattern to entrap yourself in loveless marriages.” 

Her eyes widened from the insult.

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Jorah stepped back, roughly running his hand through his beard, as she continued. “You know what my duties require of me.”

“I know what you _think_ they require.” 

“These are sacrifices that I have to make, Jorah.”

“Haven’t you sacrificed enough?!” He shouted.

And just as quickly as the weather, the atmosphere changed. 

The tension becoming thicker. 

Almost palpable.

Like a billowing fog choking the air from their lungs.

Making it harder for either party to breathe. 

To calm the pounding in their chests. 

As a truth that had previously enveloped the room, slowly dissipated. 

Daenerys pointed an accusing finger. “You’re drunk. So, I’ll forgive that one outburst.” 

“Aye,” He argued. “That explains everything, doesn’t it?” 

Her brows creased dramatically.

“I’m sorry?”

“Forget the fact that I love you. That I have always loved you.” He ran his hand through his hair, desperate to ground his raging emotions. “Tell me, Your Grace, when will it ever be enough?”

Her eyes softened and he could visibly see the pity etched within her features. 

And for the first time tonight, he wanted to throw up. 

Unsure if it was the alcohol that suddenly turned his stomach…or her rejection.

_No, it was definitely the rejection._

He didn’t want her damn pity.

He wanted her love. 

And nothing short of that would do. 

Not any longer. 

He didn’t think his heart could sustain another day of living off the scraps that fell from her table.

“Jorah,” Her fingers gently weave through his hair, caressing his ear in the process. “You are in no condition to make such declarations.” 

His eyes met hers, fixed and searching. 

“No, but you are.” 

Daenerys’ forehead creased in confusion. 

“I’m not follow –”

“You kissed me back.” He interrupted.

Her hand instantly fell to her side, her lips slightly parting, as her chest seized in its pursuit of air. 

And he could see it. 

See how her visage likened to that of child whom had been called out on their inner most secrets. 

“Th…that’s,” She stuttered. “…Because I was caught off guard.”

Jorah’s smirk is slow, and a bit lopsided, like someone who is easily amused by a person convinced of their own lies.

“Ah, I see.” Daenerys watched as her Lord Commander’s eyes made a slow, decisive perusal of her body. “Fortunately, I have a remedy for that.”

She swallowed hard, as her hand covered her heart, as if willing it’s thundering beats into a more silent submission.

“And…” His Queen nervously clears her throat. “And what do you propose?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “We try again.”

Confidently, taking a step forward, only to have Daenerys retreat further back into the room, pausing when she bumped into the back of the sofa.

Her eyes pierced his, her voice stern.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

But her bear wasn’t deterred in his pursuit.

And before she knew it, his body was firmly pressing into hers, prying the forgotten book from her fingers as he tossed it offhandedly onto the couch. 

She watched in horror, as his hands moved to either side of her, firmly gripping the back of the sofa and successfully entrapping her. 

“Remember, Khaleesi, I’m drunk.” He whispered, as his lips lightly ghosted over hers, teasing them into subjection. “And very…_unpredictable.”_

And he could easily see the promise of a spark in her eyes. 

Paying little heed to the dangers that could follow igniting such a fire. 

As of this moment, he would gladly embrace the flames and burn to ash, if she so commanded it. 

“We can’t.” She gasped. 

His eyes held hers. 

“You are the Dragon Queen.” He breathed. “You can do whatever you please.”

She closed her eyes tight. 

“I can’t”

Dimly aware of his hands sliding along her waist, pulling her closer to him. 

If such an act was even possible. 

But her Knight somehow managed to find a way in his inebriated state.

And suddenly, as her hands cautiously pressed against his chest and slowly began sliding up, she began to make a mental note, to outlaw every last barrel of ale within her city. 

It’s poison too strong to combat.

Especially when consumed by a man like Jorah Mormont.

“Do you love him?” 

Her eyes shoot open. 

“No.” 

She answers way too quickly.

And with far too much conviction. 

But the smile it brings to his lips, was well worth the major lapse in her façade.

Her hands encircled his neck, fingers lightly playing through his curls.

“I don’t truly know Lord Ricker enough to love him…not like I know –”

Her sentence was left unfinished. 

The answer hanging in the air. 

Shining in her eyes, reflecting her conclusion like a mirror.

Jorah watched as her lips parted, her head tilting slightly back, as her hands gently nudged his lips into action.

“Stop!”

Someone shouted, as both occupants jumped apart, turning to see Tyrion Lannister glaring from the open doors.


	3. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion confronts Jorah and Daenerys...and learns more about their accidental meeting than he initially intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning, this chapter is short. 
> 
> Way shorter than my usual chapters. But, I did want to get some kind of an update in for you guys.
> 
> I probably could have added the next chapter to it, but I decided to leave it as is.
> 
> Yes, I'm evil like that. 
> 
> Also, Chapter 4, will definitely be the final chapter that wraps this story up. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! :)

“Stop!”

Someone shouted, as both occupants jumped apart, turning to see Tyrion Lannister glaring from the open doors. 

Jorah stumbles back, bumping into a side table, as a rather colorful expletive leaves his lips.

Tyrion’s eyes narrow, suspiciously studying the Knight’s unsteady disposition. 

“Are you drunk, Mormont?” 

“Depends…are you still short?” 

Daenerys’ hand quickly flies to her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her amusement from Tyrion’s askance expression. 

She watches as the little Lannister gives Jorah a dry look. 

“I’m going to save us both some time and answer to the obvious.” The dwarf pauses and audibly sighs. “…Yes.” 

“Then I’m not drunk.” Jorah mumbles. 

“Funny,” Tyrion concedes. “That’s very funny, Mormont. Perhaps you should drink more often.” 

Jorah’s forehead creased predominantly, clearly struggling to follow, until the Hand of the Queen elaborated. 

“Since your sense of humor is virtually nonexistent otherwise.” 

“That must explain why you suck on every wine bottle like a newborn babe on his mother’s teat.” 

And Tyrion’s eyes incredulously shoot to Daenerys’ when she abruptly bursts out laughing. 

“You do realize that you are only encouraging him?” 

Dany innocently shrugs her shoulders. 

“I’m doing no such thing.” 

“Well, you did kiss me.” Jorah announced, as if the furtive act was already public knowledge. 

The Queen’s eyes widened, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“You started it.” 

Her Knight squints his eyes, as if desperately trying to recollect the moment. 

“Did I?” 

Deanerys nodded. 

“I may need you to refresh my memory.” 

Tyrion’s mouth dropped, every line of his features morphing into pure disgust.

“No!” His hands pleadingly flew out, gravely trying to stop them. “…No, we don’t need to refresh anything, except the direction to your bedrooms.” 

Jorah’s face lit up in agreement. 

“Separately.” Tyrion corrected. “In fact, I think you need to step away, Mormont.” 

The Queensguard rolled his eyes, taking a small step back.

But the distance wasn’t sufficient enough for the little Lannister, as he waved his hand in a motion that signaled a broader expanse was needed.

“A little further if you please…Our Queen does require oxygen to breathe.” 

“Tyrion, this really isn’t necessary.” Daenerys argued. 

Only to receive a droll look in return.

“Isn’t necessary?” He mocked; his voice laced with disbelief. “I’ll tell you what isn’t necessary…sucking on your Lord Commander’s tongue in the wee hours of the night. _That_, is what’s not necessary.”

It was Daenerys’ turn to roll her eyes, with an exaggerated huff of breath that told Tyrion she disagreed. 

That she had quite possibly enjoyed kissing Mormont far more than a woman of her stature should have.

“It’s a good thing I walked in when I did, only the gods know what else would have happened if I hadn’t stumbled upon the two of you.”

Dany waved a dismissive hand, her voice stern. 

Unforgiving.

With a hint of disappointment.

“Nothing was going to happen.” 

Tyrion gave her a pointed look.

“Mormont is clearly drunk…anything could have happened." He vehemently continued, driving the wisdom of his point home. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I don't recall seeing you put up much of a fight. Nor did you appear to be mulling over the consequences of your actions.”

"Well, I was rather busy." She defended.

Jorah smirked, as Tyrion's expression remained unamused. 

"I see the importance of this situation seems rather comical to you both. But I doubt that it would be as humorous if he had proposed marriage in this state?"

Immediately, Jorah and Dany exchange a sheepish look, then discreetly avert their eyes back to Tyrion’s newly, horrified countenance.

“Seven hells, Mormont.” He derisively cried. “You did, didn’t you?”

Jorah's mouth opens, then closes just as quickly. 

“I never answered.” Daenerys clarifies, saving her Lord Commander from the embarrassment of an explanation. 

“Good.” Tyrion concludes, breathing a sigh of relief. 

Only to catch how the Queen's eyes seek out Jorah’s.

Their depths warm.

Assuring. 

Gentle in their deliverance.

“But I plan too.” 

And suddenly, Tyrion could feel the panic rising in his throat.

Could visibly see disaster on the horizon.

“Your Grace,” The dwarf swallowed hard. “I implore you to consider Lord Ricker’s offer.” 

His Queen pins him with a firm, hard gaze. 

“This conversation is over. I shall personally deliver my decision to Lord Ricker tomorrow.” 

Then, her expression softens considerably. 

“Would you please see to Ser Jorah’s safe return to his quarters.”

Tyrion reluctantly nodded, watching as she shared one last, meaningful look with her Lord Commander before retrieving her book and exiting the library.

Her shoulders carrying the weight of his proposal with her.

And he knew. 

There would be no sleep for him tonight.

Or the man whom was currently staring at his Queen's fleeting form, as it disappeared into the darkness, like a dream he's relived a thousand times over.

_'Oh yes,'_ Tyrion thought. _'Sleep would definitely be lost to both of them tonight...and perhaps the Queen as well.'_


	4. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys finally gives Jorah an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's the final chapter to this story. 
> 
> Lord knows it took me long enough. I'm not going to lie, I was struggling with how I wanted to end this one. Especially since my brain was just winging it. 
> 
> But I think it ended fairly well. I'm pleased enough with it. 
> 
> Also, if you're reading WIaFC, hopefully the new update will be in a week or two. Probably two because my oldest son's birthday is coming up and my mind will be solely focused on that.

She was late.

Over an hour late.

And he tried desperately not to read too much into it. 

Into the fact that she was beginning to skip out on her combative lessons. 

Or the fact that she was now avoiding him. 

He was never informed of what happened with Lord Ricker. 

The only information he has, is what his eyes saw in the early hours of dawn. 

Which was a retinue of soldiers proceeding out of King’s Landing. 

And it was then, that he actually dared to hope.

But as the hours passed by, his faith slowly abated.

With news from Tyrion that Ser Davos would be accompanying the Queen to the Throne Room and that his services would not be required until later that evening.

Yet, here he sat, sword unsheathed and alone.

With no sign of the Dragon Queen. 

Jorah looked around one last time. 

Hoping to see some sign of her. 

But nothing.

So, he gently laid his sword on top of the cement wall.

Then walked toward the edge of the scaffold, letting the breeze from the waves caress his face in a manner, that he had longed for his Khaleesi to do.

It was beautiful here.

The air smelled of saltwater and flowers.

The first scent of spring. 

She always seemed to prefer the seclusion. 

Which is why he had chosen this place himself. 

Far away from prying eyes and loose tongues. 

On the days of her lessons, they would often forego the training yard for a more scenic, yet private platform.

The very one rumored to be where Bronn of Blackwater secretly retrained Jaime Lannister to fight with his left hand.

As of now, no one knows where Ser Bronn is. 

Disappearing shortly after Daenerys conquered the city.

But Jaime Lannister, well, the Kingslayer is rumored to be in the North and remaining quite close to Lady Sansa’s Queensguard, Brienne of Tarth. 

At least, they found their happy ending.

Unfortunately, his seemed to be further out of reach. 

More so now than ever.

“Keep your sword with you at all times. Let it become your new hand and never part from it…For danger can be found in every corner.”

He could recognize that sweet intonation anywhere.

Jorah turned to face her, only to find her sitting on the steps, with heartsbane lying across her lap. 

Watching, as she arched an expressive brow. 

“That was lesson number one, was it not, Ser Jorah?” 

“I believe you’re right.” 

Daenerys nodded toward his sword. 

“Do you often break your own rules?” 

Her voice was different.

Light. 

Teasing.

More provocative. 

“It only applies when there is a possible threat.” 

“And you don’t find me threatening?” 

“Should I?” 

And it was the light in her eyes that drew him in. 

The way they shined back at him. 

He watched as she innocently shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know…Lord Ricker seemed to leave in quite a hurry.” 

Jorah crossed his arms, his eyes seeking the solace of the ocean again. 

He wasn’t sure if this was a conversation he wanted to have.

But gods, he needed to know.

_His heart needed to know._

“Did he get the answer he hoped for?”

A deep silence fell over them. 

The respite being filled with the sound of waves crashing against the surrounding rocks.

Mimicking the thundering pace of his heart, slamming itself against his chest. 

And he could feel her looking at him. 

Her eyes studying his every move. 

As if she was reading the very pages of his soul.

Jorah takes a deep breath and when his eyes finally meet her gaze, she gives him a reassuring smile.

One that tells him, that sometimes, things are not as they seem. 

“I think you already know the answer to that.” 

Jorah’s staring, he knows. 

But she always seems to know how to get to him. 

How to catch his emotions off guard.

Just when all hope is lost, one simple smile from her lips, breathes life back into what was lost.

Like embers, starving for air, only to be saved by a gentle breeze. 

Turning what was dying into a blazing wildfire.

And he’s certain she can see it. 

See how the relief washes over his features.

And if the empathy in her expression says anything at all, it’s that she’s just as disencumbered by the decision.

Suddenly, he feels as though he can breathe again.

Like the rock that had been lodged upon his heart was removed. 

Until he’s reminded of last night. 

Much of it was hazy. 

An unreachable cloud hanging over his head. 

But Tyrion had no issue filling in the blanks this morning. 

They kissed. 

Twice, he thinks. 

And then, there was the proverbial elephant in the room.

_His proposal._

It was that one mishap that Tyrion seemed to overly enjoy revealing the most.

_Seven hells, what she must think of him right now._

“Khaleesi, I owe –.”

“Don’t.” She cuts him off and closes her eyes, turning inward. “Please, don’t apologize.”

“But I must.” He continued. “I overstepped my bounds –”

Her eyes open and the sadness found there makes him stop midsentence. 

Forgetting the rest of his apology. 

Watching silently as she stands, her hands carefully palming both ends of his sword.

Calmly closing the distance between them.

Only to stop far too close.

And extend heartsbane out to him, as though it were a peace offering. 

Or just an excuse to be near him. 

His eyes move to his sword and gently takes it.

“You did nothing, that I did not allow, Ser Jorah.” 

Jorah’s face suddenly goes sober.

And there’s a long pause. 

Total silence.

Where she would almost swear that he wasn’t breathing. 

As the realization dawns on him. 

That she might want this too. 

And suddenly, it’s there between them. 

This thing they've always avoided. 

A familiar intensity that ties one to the other.

An attraction that has been left unspoken for years. 

Ignored and pushed back to the far corners of her mind. 

Tucked safely away, in a place that he could never reach.

Until recently.

And before he knows it, her fingers draw over his face, and his mouth falls open, giving away the proof of the power she holds over him.

She searches his eyes for any ambiguity.

Chasing it down, like Drogon does his prey. 

Desperate to burn away any doubt that may be lingering behind. 

“Despite the insistence of my council, I have no desire to marry a King.” 

Still under the influence of her gaze, he’s unable to speak, as she gives him a daring look. 

“But a Knight may be able to persuade me.” She reveals, her lips lightly ghosting his. 

Slightly hovering.

Testing. 

The allure drawing him in, until their lips finally meet. 

A slow unraveling. 

Gentle in nature.

So careful, that he gets lost in it. 

So lost, that his sword slips from his hand and clatters to the ground. 

Left forgotten, as the kiss deepens. 

Her hands working under his crimson cloak, deliberately moving up his back, pulling him to her. 

Holding him tighter, yet needing him closer still.

And without warning, he abruptly pulls away. 

Too fast for her liking, breaking the kiss entirely. 

But it’s the elated expression on his face that prompts instant forgiveness.

“Wait…was that a yes?”

And she sees that his discernment had successfully waded its way through the fog. 

That he’s finally catching up. 

Realizing the profound significance of her words. 

Daenerys regards him cautiously with upturned lips, her eyes soft, containers for amusement.

“Maybe.”

Jorah leans back, giving her a playful smirk. 

“Maybe?” 

She nods, her tone light. 

“Well, you were quite drunk last night.” She explained. “How am I to know you truly meant it.” 

“Believe me, Khaleesi, I meant it. Without the wine, I may have never had the courage to ask.” 

She hummed in agreement. “I must say, you were quite persuasive.” 

“But not persuasive enough to warrant an answer?” 

Her eyes shine back at him with mischief. 

“Soon.” 

And their staring. 

Both of them. 

Like neither one can get their fill of the other. 

“But first, would you like to accompany me for a stroll through the gardens?” 

Jorah nodded, leaning down to retrieve his sword and casing it. 

“I am yours to command, Khalessi.”

With nothing more than a smile, she weaved her hand through his arm, walking up the steps.

Immediately, Jorah noticed the Unsullied whom she had commanded to wait for her in the distance. 

Apparently, she wanted her visit with him completely private and undisturbed.

For a while, they said nothing. 

Both simply enjoying each other’s company and the leisure of their walk together. 

Of course, it’s always been that way between them. 

Words were never needed.

But when they began to enter into the garden, his Queen decided on that particular moment to make small talk. 

“Do you know why I excused you from your duties this morning?” 

“I must confess, the reason did cross my mind.” 

“I thought you may need the rest, considering your state last night.” 

“Ah, I see.”

He watched as she paused by a bushel of dusk roses, cupping one and taking in its scent.

“You thought I was avoiding you?”

She gives him a pointed look over her shoulder, with one brow raised and a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

Jorah sighed, not wanting to admit to the truth.

But it was pointless not too. 

His Queen knew him far too well.

“I did.”

“I thought as much.” She says, pulling him with her, as they resumed walking down the cobblestone path. “But I assure you, Ser Jorah, that I was not.”

“I only suspected it this morning, Khaleesi.” He pauses, mesmerized by the way she pulls him closer to her. “But I was almost convinced of it when you were late for your lessons.”

“There was a reason for that.”

He nods once, with a concerned, aside glance her way. 

“Care to share as to why?”

“You will find out soon enough.” 

Jorah stops just a few yards from the pavilion, easily making out the red, barrel shaped clay tiles of its roof in the distance, as well as certain members of her council.

And she sees the way his expression creases with curiosity, how his jaw twitches from the possibility of what this encounter may entail. 

Then, the release of all that tension, dissipating before her very eyes.

Replaced by a certain amusement as he notices Tyrion, with a chalice of wine in hand, standing under the pavilion, conversing with Grand Maester Tarley.

Noting the way Samwell’s face lights up when their eyes meet, and how Tyrion curiously looks over his shoulder.

Only to roll his eyes and quickly throw his head back, gulping down the rest of his wine, as he spots the pair, then staggering off in need of more.

Jorah’s smile is slow, and a bit lopsided, like someone who is amused they've been caught.

“Tyrion doesn’t look happy.” 

“No, he is none too pleased with me right now.” 

“Did you hide the barrels of wine again?” 

She shook her head, her eyes not quite meeting his. 

“No…I asked Samwell Tarly to marry us.” 

Jorah’s eyes snap to her. 

His body frozen in place.

And she doesn’t even have to look at him to imagine the byplay of expressions taking place. 

The wonder. 

The shock. 

Perhaps a tad bit of confusion. 

It wasn’t until she slowly turned to face him that she realized, he was still processing. 

Still struggling to reconcile the cold, distant Queen of the past, to the one standing before him now. 

And she sees it. 

Sees how he wants this. 

Wants it more than any desire that has predated this moment. 

But despite all his longings, hers, will always take precedence. 

“Are you certain, Khaleesi?” 

He doesn’t want her to regret this decision.

Even if she doesn’t foresee such a day ever arriving.

Still, he needs reassurance.

“I turned Lord Ricker away because I realized something last night.” She says, her voice laced with conviction. “It’s you. I think its always been you. It just took me a little longer to see what my heart had already known.”

“Are you saying that you care for me?”

“I’m passed that, Jorah. I’m saying that I can’t imagine my life without you by my side. And whatever I must do to achieve that as a Queen, then that’s what I will do. I have made it quite clear, that I shall have you, or no one at all.” 

That look of disbelief persists, even as she cups his face in her hands and kisses him.

Her lips soft and persuasive. 

And when it ended, the sparkle in her eyes confirms the depth of her confession.

She truly did love him. 

More than he would ever be able to fathom.

With an intensity that would later inspire Maesters and commoners alike, to compose poems and songs about the fervor of their passion.

One that would not be seen again for centuries after.

Not even their children’s marriages would surpass it. 

But their story, will live on. 

Being passed down for all time.

_The Dragon Queen and her Bear King._


End file.
